


Safe Haven

by kashiichan



Series: Hunter's Heart, Hunter's Mouth [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Assumptions are bad, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is gayer than etc, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is demisexual, Demisexuality, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Other, Power Dynamics, Red Pants, Romance, erotic touching, feelings are hard, feelings with porn, having a physical sex has become virtually effortless by now, love is not an escalator, no beta we die like men, they've both been on Earth too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashiichan/pseuds/kashiichan
Summary: "Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always." — Dante AlighieriCrowley is greedy for every new part of Aziraphale, for every new experience they can share together, and probably always will be.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hunter's Heart, Hunter's Mouth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440622
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Safe Haven

There are seventeen stairs between the shop level and the bedroom above. Crowley knows this because he counts each one as he follows Aziraphale up them, trying to slow his racing heart[1].

They've been going to bed together every night for months, but today feels different; almost like the world is holding its breath as they move up the stairs, hand in hand. What they're doing—what they're about to do—feels huge and terrifying and completely mundane, all at the same time. Crowley only realised last night that Aziraphale has been letting him set the pace of this new thing between them; he wants to speed up, to throw himself headlong into it, but he's spent so long trying to slow down that he doesn't remember _how_.

After thousands of years of furtive friendship, of constantly looking over his shoulder, Crowley still can't quite believe they've been allowed to become... whatever it is they are[2]. The demon spent the first few weeks of freedom waiting for the catch—with things this good, there's usually a catch—but it seems like their respective Head Offices actually are going to leave them alone. For the first time in a very, very long time, Crowley wakes up each morning feeling _safe_.

Once the threatening gaze of Heaven and Hell really did seem to have turned away, Crowley stopped trying to maintain the usual cautious space between them. It had been easier than he'd expected to increase their physical intimacy: resting his thigh against the angel's when they sit together, pressing flush against Aziraphale's back when he leans over the angel's shoulder, and eventually, after a certain amount of fortifying wine, daring to sprawl across the couch so he could place his head in the angel's lap. He'd pushed, expecting some kind of resistance—Aziraphale has always been slow to change[3], and habits can be very hard to break—but had been pleasantly surprised when Aziraphale had reciprocated immediately. Now the angel reaches out frequently to touch Crowley, laces their fingers together, rests their ankles against each other underneath every table, and seems to greatly enjoy playing with Crowley's hair. Knowing the angel's affection springs from love[4] soothed an ache he hadn't even noticed he'd had until it was gone, but in its place is an buzzing itch under his skin that he doesn't know how to scratch. Aziraphale treats him like he's precious, like their closeness is a gift, and it makes Crowley _hungry_.

He'd always wondered why some humans enjoyed rough treatment, but thinks he understands it better now[5]; Crowley can still feel the angel's touch—the warm press of Aziraphale's lips against his eyelids, the light sting of Aziraphale's nails on his skin, the sharp ache of Aziraphale's teeth against his neck—in a way that he probably wouldn't if it had been soft, and he desperately wants more. Everything is so tangled up inside him that he's not sure how to even _begin_ explaining it, but the demon has seen millions of relationships end because the people involved weren't honest[6] with each other; he refuses to let that happen to them.

Just past the threshold of their bedroom, Crowley tugs on their joined hands until Aziraphale turns to face him. "Do you have any idea," he asks quietly, "how long I've waited for this?"

"How long?" Aziraphale asks obligingly. He uses his free left hand to tuck one of Crowley's messy curls behind his ear, then cups his cheek.

"Two hundred and twenty-seven years," says Crowley, rubbing his face against the angel's palm[7]. Aziraphale doesn't seem to know what to say to that, and just blinks at him in surprise. "You finally caught up," the demon smirks, taking a step forwards. Aziraphale takes a sharp breath and steps with him, lets Crowley herd him backwards towards the nearby wall. "What do you want, angel? Tell me."

"Kiss me," Aziraphale says softly, sliding his fingers up across the demon's snake mark, over the curve of his ear, and into his hair. The intensity of Aziraphale's affection is a heady thing; Crowley feels almost drunk with it. "Just kiss me, please."

Crowley leans his body against Aziraphale's and presses their mouths together. He doesn't really know how to start a kiss—theoretical knowledge isn't the same as actually doing it—and at first it doesn't feel like anything other than skin against skin; it's nice, but probably isn't what Aziraphale was asking for. The angel must sense his uncertainty, because he tugs gently on Crowley's hair until he tilts his head slightly. Their lips catch and slide against each other, and the demon suddenly understands why humans spend so much time kissing; Aziraphale's lips are warm and lusciously soft against his own.

After a few moments, Crowley brings his free right hand up to rest on the angel's shoulder and kisses him again, slow and careful. He likes the gentle intimacy of how they fit together; it makes him feel warm all over, like he's basking in sunlight. The angel sighs into it, and before he knows it Crowley is sliding his hand across Aziraphale's shoulder, then stroking his fingers up along the side of the angel's neck. Aziraphale's pulse is thrumming fast under Crowley's fingertips; it's reassuring to know that the angel is as affected by all of this as Crowley is.

Aziraphale eventually pulls back a little, resting his forehead against Crowley's as he tilts his face down just enough to put a bit of space between their mouths. Crowley attempts to retreat, vaguely concerned he's done something wrong, but the hand on the back of his neck doesn't let him go far. "I have a question to ask, my dear," the angel explains, adjusting the grip of their joined hands so he can rub his thumb across Crowley's knuckles.

"Yeah?"

"You're a shapeshifter," Aziraphale says.

Crowley frowns at him. "That's not a question."

Aziraphale's eyes crinkle up as he smiles. "No. However it does mean that I'm not completely sure what, ah, configuration of parts are involved—I don't want to assume."

"Oh," Crowley says, surprised. "'s been a cock for a while now, but I've had other things. I can change it if you want."

"No, no," says Aziraphale, linking their fingers together. "This is your favourite form; whatever it usually has is fine. Though I must admit, I am more familiar with cocks."

"Familiar how?" Crowley asks curiously, gently squeezing the angel's hand.

"Humans usually read me as male," says Aziraphale, squeezing back. "As a result, there have been certain expectations over the years—particularly around where, and with whom, I would spend my time."

"Seen a lot of naked men, have you?" Crowley grins.

"Humans are obsessed with nudity[8]," Aziraphale huffs. "They'll find any excuse to take their clothes off, but then start questioning the morality of it—as if nudity has some deeper meaning!"

"Mm," Crowley agrees vaguely, caught up in watching Aziraphale's mouth move.

Despite the general reputation of demons as lecherous perverts, Crowley had always been rather uninterested[9] in sex—he was content with the angel's tentative friendship, and basked in the rare warmth of it whenever it was available—but the mutual acknowledgement of their romantic feelings changed everything. The last few months have been difficult for Crowley; the increased intimacy, both physical _and_ emotional, has made it so much harder to ignore how desperately he wants things that he never used to want. Over the last couple of weeks, he's been captivated by the angel's body—the rhythm of his breath, the plushness of his belly, the subtle varieties of his scents, the breadth of his fingers—to a degree that's almost embarrassing.

In 6000 years, Aziraphale's never mentioned having any sexual attractions or desires, and the demon hadn't wanted to make him uncomfortable; as a result, Crowley's spent most of the last three days trying to imagine what the angel's skin tastes like while avoiding eye contact. It had taken all his willpower just to keep his damned tongue to himself, but then last night he'd finally let himself request a kiss. He'd been shocked when Aziraphale had given him _three_ , then implied there could be more—that if he wanted something, he just needed to _ask_. The demon was so used to keeping his cravings and urges to himself that he hadn't even realised asking was an option; in retrospect, he feels a bit stupid about that.

"No part of the body is more or less moral than any other part," Aziraphale continues, oblivious to Crowley's fond exasperation as he warms to the topic. "In the eyes of the Almighty, a breast and a foot and a cock are all just as sacred as each other. What's more intimate than the touch of two bodies? Is a bared wrist somehow less beautiful than a bared shoulder? How could a woman's thigh be more 'inappropriate' than a man's, when the flesh is the same? Humanity's grasp of sex and gender is still rather limited—I'll probably never understand why they bother with segregated bathrooms—so really, it's no wonder—"

"You need to work on your timing, angel," Crowley interrupts gently, letting one corner of his mouth curl up into a smile.

Aziraphale blinks at him for a few moments. "Oh dear," he says at last. "I got carried away, didn't I?"

"If humans didn't have weird ideas, they'd be boring," Crowley shrugs. This is hardly the first time Aziraphale's gotten distracted by something irrelevant, but that's just who he is; Crowley would never ridicule him about it, but others haven't been so kind. Whenever Aziraphale gets that worried look in his eyes, afraid he's shown too much of himself[10], Crowley always aches to make it better. "I like hearing your thoughts," the demon tells him, "but can it wait? I want to kiss you."

"It can," Aziraphale smiles, almost radiant in his happiness, and tilts his face back up. "Please do."

Crowley kisses him harder than before, opening his mouth a little to see what it feels like. Aziraphale moans as the demon's weight pushes him against the wall, and slides his hand further into the mess of Crowley's hair. It's not long until the strands are hopelessly tangled around the angel's fingers, and the gentle tug of it sends a shiver down Crowley's spine.

"Apologies," Aziraphale murmurs, breath hot against Crowley's lips. "I forgot about your bed head."

"No," Crowley groans, tilting his head so he can feel it again. "Harder."

The angel tightens his hand into a fist against Crowley's scalp; without planning to, the demon arches against the sharp pull of it. He doesn't realise he's panting, that each new tug of his hair is pulling a breathy moan from his lungs, until the angel presses his lips against Crowley's jaw. "Do you like that, darling?" Aziraphale asks, his voice gone low.

"More," Crowley manages, and Aziraphale's lips curl up into a satisfied smile. The angel tugs a little harder, and Crowley has to close his eyes to keep the feelings inside him from spilling out. It's just so much _sensation_.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighs, as if he can tell. "You're incredible."

"Kiss me," Crowley demands, and Aziraphale does.

The angel's right hand soon lets go of Crowley's left to slide under the edge of his shirt, and curves around his hip. The demon expects him to do something, maybe use his new grip to tug him closer, but Aziraphale just holds him firmly. Occasionally he rubs his thumb across the fabric-covered jut of Crowley's hip bone; as chaste as it is, knowing that Aziraphale is touching him through his pants makes Crowley feel spark-bright and hot, like an unearthed current[11]. It's almost too much, but Aziraphale's grip on his hair keeps him grounded as the sensation flares through him.

Crowley nips the angel's lower lip, then runs the tip of his tongue along the soft skin. Aziraphale opens his mouth in response, and the demon licks into it almost by accident. The noise Aziraphale makes when he curls his tongue along the angel's teeth ignites the burning embers of Crowley's desire, and the demon suddenly needs to know what _else_ will reward him with that sound. Aziraphale's mouth is hot and wet and full of fascinating textures; he barely notices his tongue lengthening as he explores, determined to memorise every dip and ridge of the angel's palate. He's greedy for every new part of Aziraphale, for every new experience they can share together, and probably always will be[12].

The angel's hand on his hip eventually slides up and around to his lower back, fingers stroking along the bare skin of his spine; Crowley follows the unspoken instruction and presses closer. Aziraphale moans into his mouth, braces his shoulders against the wall, and slides down a little so he can nudge one of his legs between Crowley's. The demon exhales sharply as Aziraphale's thigh presses gently up against Crowley's cock.

"Grind down, my dear," the angel murmurs against his lips, loosening his grip on Crowley's hair. "It'll feel so good."

Aziraphale's broad thigh is soft and warm and yes, rutting against it does feel wonderful. Crowley's starting to feel a little unsteady, so he presses both palms flat against the wall for balance before licking back into Aziraphale's mouth.

After a while, Crowley pulls away just far enough to ask, "Is there anything you don't like, angel?"

"I've thought about it rather a lot, over the years," Aziraphale admits. "I've not personally tried some of humanity's, ah, more _creative_ endeavours, but I'm not sure that there's much I wouldn't like. As long as you were enjoying it too, of course."

"You're such a hedonist[13]," the demon says fondly.

" _Joie de vivre_ ," Aziraphale insists.

"So I'm not a rubbish kisser, then?" Crowley asks, only half-joking.

"My dear, you did a thing with your tongue before that was positively _wicked_ ," Aziraphale sighs. His left hand is a warm, safe pressure on the back of Crowley's head. "Will you do it again?"

"Maybe we could move to the bed, first?" Crowley says carefully. Every step from here is new, but Crowley has always needed to test boundaries and this is no different; Aziraphale has always stopped him if he pushed too far. "I mean, it's right there."

"You did ask me to take you to bed," Aziraphale hums, lightly scratching his nails downwards across the nape of Crowley's neck. The sharp sensation is just heavy enough to make the demon shiver. "I apologise, I got rather distracted."

"If you're really sorry," Crowley says bravely, "you'll take off some of these layers."

"Whatever you like," Aziraphale agrees, pressing a kiss to Crowley's cheek before letting him go. "Will you go sit on the bed for me, darling? Pillows against the headboard, if you don't mind."

As Aziraphale bends down to untie his shoelaces, Crowley moves over to their bed, drops to his knees on the wrinkled duvet[14], and crawls over to the pillows. It doesn't take long to build a wall of soft support against the headboard and settle back against it, but then he's not sure what to do with his legs. Crossing them seems too closed off, but opening them wide flashes his red pants like a mating signal; it makes him feel vulnerable in a way he's not ready for. Eventually he finds a middle ground: left leg folded up, toes pushed under his right knee, with his right leg curving sightly outstretched in front.

He looks up to find Aziraphale and catches the angel watching him. "What?"

"I just love looking at you," Aziraphale sighs happily. "You're so beautiful[15]."

To his dismay, Crowley feels his face warm. "Shut up," he mutters, carefully banishing the unwanted blood in his cheeks back to where it came from, and Aziraphale is kind enough to let it go.

"I'll stop whenever you like," the angel promises softly, toeing off his shoes and nudging them out of the way with one foot. "Just say the word."

"Stop w—" Crowley begins, then abruptly closes his mouth as Aziraphale shrugs his linen coat off. The angel rarely takes off clothing when they're together—he'd come to bed fully dressed, multiple times, until Crowley had eventually managed to convince him that wearing a coat to bed[16] was inappropriate—and the sight hits him much harder than he expected.

Crowley doesn't believe there's anything inherently special or sacred about seeing someone's naked body; when you can move between molecules, clothing doesn't really make that much difference. Over the millennia they've known each other, Crowley has seen Aziraphale in various types of clothing and states of undress—even nude sometimes, thanks to the angel's love of natural hot springs—but there's something about seeing Aziraphale willingly disrobing, just because Crowley asked him to, that does something funny to his stomach.

The angel folds his coat precisely before setting it down on the chaise at the foot of the bed. "Alright?" he asks gently.

"Yes," Crowley says hoarsely. He can't make himself look away from Aziraphale's luscious fingers. "The waistcoat next."

"We wouldn't want to crease it," Aziraphale agrees. He carefully unhooks his fob medallion and tucks it into the waistcoat's little pocket, then slips the bottom button free of its hole before moving to the one above it. He's taking his time, gently stroking along the fabric with his fingertips, and Crowley suddenly understands why the edges of his waistcoat are all worn away; he'd assumed the loss of colour had been due to aged fabric, but now it's obvious that Aziraphale has been touching himself like this—slowly wearing away the texture of the velvet, even as he revelled in the feeling of it—every time he undressed. The realisation makes Crowley's traitorous heart beat faster in his chest.

The angel folds his waistcoat in half, sets it down on top of his coat, then straightens back up. His navy braces are decorated with delicate embroidery[17], and his dress shirt is a pale ice blue; they both set off his eyes wonderfully.

Crowley's skin feels hot and sensitive, like his veins are carrying electricity instead of blood; he's started trembling under the force of it, and can't seem to stop. Aziraphale must notice, because he pauses. "Too much?"

"No," Crowley says, deliberately meeting his eyes. He's been waiting _centuries_ for these last few barriers between them to disappear; his body's strange reactions aren't going to get in the way of that. "Take more off."

The angel's eyes flash bright for a moment. "As you wish," he murmurs, then reaches behind himself. Crowley has no idea what he's doing until he finishes—it doesn't take long—and moves to unhook his bracers from the buttons at the front of his trousers. His movements are quick and smooth, and Crowley abruptly realises that the angel must have been undressing himself like this for hundreds of years.

He'd known that Aziraphale preferred to buy his clothing, and that he did occasionally update[18] his wardrobe, but had never made the logical connection between those two points. Manifesting clothes has always been so easy for Crowley—just a modicum of imagination and a snap of his fingers—that before coming to stay with Aziraphale, the demon hadn't bothered to develop any particular feelings about ties or buttons or zips, other than what they could provide asthetically to an outfit. Now, though, he understands why so much of human erotica involves undressing for someone else; watching the angel perform this small act of service for him has been one of the most intimate things he's ever experienced.

Aziraphale slips the bracers over his shoulders, folds and places them carefully on top of his waistcoat, then hesitates. "Keep going," Crowley breathes, digging the fingers of his right hand into the muscle of his thigh. Aziraphale watches the movement, then reaches up with both hands to tug his bow tie apart. He slowly draws the long strip of tartan cloth out from under his collar, then deliberately drops the scrap of fabric onto the floor next to the chaise.

The look in Aziraphale's eyes makes a small part of Crowley want to get off the bed and drop to his knees—venerating an angel would hardly be the worst sin he's ever committed—but the rest of him is determined to stay where Aziraphale asked him to go. It's a rather odd feeling; Crowley hasn't been afraid of Aziraphale since Eden[19], but it's a little bit _like_ fear: incandescent, like holding on too long would leave a burn. Crowley makes a mental note to properly examine it later, then tries to ignore it.

Still moving slowly, Aziraphale pulls his shirt out of his trousers so it's untucked and hanging free, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. This time he begins from the top, gradually baring his throat and collarbones. The low neck of his white undershirt reveals pale curls of hair; Crowley can't help wondering if it's as soft as it looks.

When his dress shirt is hanging open, revealing his chest and the swell of his belly, Aziraphale stops again. Before he can say anything, Crowley lets go of his own thigh and stretches both hands out towards him. "Let me help."

Aziraphale smiles at him, then comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He holds out his arms, palms up; Crowley carefully unhooks the gold [cufflinks](https://imgur.com/r7Il2Aq) from each of the angel's sleeves, then leans over briefly to put them down safely on the bedside table. When he turns back, Aziraphale is watching him with heat in his eyes.

"What?" Crowley asks. He feels pinned under the weight of the angel's gaze, but not in a bad way; he's seen Aziraphale direct the same ardent expression at certain rare books.

"I didn't realise how much I'd enjoy that," the angel admits, voice low. "Watching you remove my clothing."

"'s just cufflinks."

"Yes, but they're custom," Aziraphale muses, "so no one else has ever done what you just did, except for me."

"You're ridiculous," Crowley manages to say, mouth dry. Speaking requires air, but how can he concentrate on breathing when Aziraphale is looking at him like _this_?

"Sometimes," Aziraphale agrees, taking one of Crowley's hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Will you indulge me, darling?"

"Always," Crowley sighs. He's still trembling, minute shivers running though him as Aziraphale leans in closer.

"You have a lovely mouth," Aziraphale hums, tracing a fingertip over Crowley's lips. "Such a curious tongue."

"Yeah?" Crowley asks breathily. "What would you like it to do?" Aziraphale just smiles, then kisses him again.

Crowley loses track of time. For a while, everything stops existing but Aziraphale: the angel's wet mouth, the angel's soft hands on his face, the angel's sweet scent[20] all around him. It's heady and easy and he wants it _forever_.

"Off," he says desperately, pulling away from Aziraphale's lips so he can shove the angel's dress shirt off his shoulders.

Aziraphale laughs, then ducks back in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Whatever you like, my dear."

Crowley means to help him, but gets distracted by the gentle curves of the angel's collarbones. He licks along one of them with a flat tongue, then presses his lips to the dip in between. Aziraphale sighs as he does, tilting his head back so Crowley can nose along the curve of his throat.

"You taste so good," Crowley moans, flicking his tongue[21] across the angel's skin. "Like sharp honey."

"That'll be the desire," Aziraphale hums. "I suppose it's close enough to lust for you to be able to sense it."

" _Angel_ ," Crowley groans.

"Will you remove my shirt, darling?" the angel asks softly. Aziraphale's dress shirt has gotten caught around his wrists; unless he wants to tear through the fabric, he's stuck. Crowley reaches out, resisting the temptation to leave the angel's elegantly-manicured hands trapped behind his back, and gently pulls the sleeves down. Once he's free, Aziraphale takes the rumpled shirt from him, looks at it for a moment, then tosses it nonchalantly onto the floor.

"Vest," the demon hisses, pulling back so he has space to yank his band shirt over his head. He's pretty sure it ends up on the floor as well, but doesn't care enough to check; Aziraphale's lack of care towards his clothing is doing funny things to Crowley's brain. "Off. Now."

The angel doesn't respond at first, seemingly distracted by the sudden reveal of so much skin. A small circular patch of white, delicate-looking scales[22] over Crowley's sternum quickly turn red as they radiate outwards along his ribs and belly, becoming wine-dark lines that curve around his sides and the tops of his thighs before abruptly ending in sharp-looking points.

"Oh, look at you," Aziraphale says reverently. "My dear, they're _exquisite_."

"You can touch them if you take this off," Crowley promises, using both hands to pull on the angel's undershirt until it's no longer tucked neatly into his trousers. "C'mon, I wanna see you."

In one smooth motion, Aziraphale hooks his fingers under the edge of the thin fabric and pulls it over his head, then tosses it over his shoulder. The undershirt catches on the edge of the footboard for a moment, then slides off onto the floor.

"You've stopped being careful with your clothes," Crowley says, reaching out with his right hand to touch the pale curls on the angel's chest. He was right; they're so _soft_. "Why?"

"What's a bit of fabric compared to your skin against mine?" Aziraphale smiles. "My dear, if a bit of carelessness is why you're looking at me like _that_ — Well, I should be happy to be so careless."

Crowley gazes at him thoughtfully, pressing his palm gently against the angel's sternum. Aziraphale rests his left hand over Crowley's wrist, gently stroking his thumb over the back of the demon's hand while Crowley tries to find the right words.

"It's not that, exactly," Crowley says at last. "I mean, it _is_ really hot, but I think maybe it's more that you... you value _me_ more than you value expensive things. Old things. Does that make sense?"

"Completely," Aziraphale says fondly. "It's true, of course. Didn't I choose our side, in the end?"

"Took you a while," Crowley says dryly.

"I was afraid," the angel admits quietly.

"Of Falling?" Crowley asks hesitantly.

"God is Love, my dear," says Aziraphale firmly. "Loving you could never be wrong."

"Then what?"

"'My lot do not send rude notes'," Aziraphale murmurs.

"You were afraid for _me_?" Crowley sputters, staring at him in amazement.

"If Heaven had found out, they would have been angry," Aziraphale explains, "but if I didn't Fall, if God chose not to punish me for my transgressions, then they couldn't either[23]. You, though..."

Crowley makes a face. They both know what a few angry angels are capable of.

"...and if Hell had found out about us, what would they have thought?" Aziraphale continues. "What would they have done to you?"

"Probably have given me a commendation," Crowley says, trying to sound casual. "'Well done on seducing an angel, now go blow up something important'."

"You may have gotten away with a seduction," Aziraphale says carefully, "but I very much doubt that they would have let you stay with me afterwards."

"Not without demanding further results," Crowley admits unhappily, "but it's not usually a hard sell. What kind of demon _doesn't_ want an angel to Fall?"

They're both quiet for a moment, reflecting on that.

"I needed to know you'd be safe," Aziraphale says softly. "I couldn't risk your life for my own happiness. _That_ would have been unforgivable."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Crowley asks. "I'm sure we could have come up with something."

"I could never be sure who was listening," Aziraphale sighs. "Even if you had been amicable, the risks were too great. I'm so sorry, my dear."

"Amicable?" Crowley scowls, offended. " _Amicable_?"

"Well, whatever you wish to call it," Aziraphale says quickly. "Interested?"

"In fraternising?" Crowley asks sarcastically.

Aziraphale smiles helplessly, then reaches out with his right hand to cup the demon's cheek in his palm. "I'm _sorry_ , Crowley."

"I thought it was just me," Crowley says quietly, nuzzling into it. "That maybe you didn't feel the same way, but then you said I was 'too fast'. 'Too fast' isn't 'no', angel."

"I couldn't bear to turn you away," Aziraphale confesses. "I _couldn't_ let you in, not then, but you were going to risk your life anyway. What kind of angel— What kind of _person_ would I have been, to allow that while risking nothing myself?"

"'Not even for something dangerous'," Crowley remembers.

"It wasn't fair to you, but I wanted..." Aziraphale swallows hard. "I didn't dare pray, but I _hoped_ something would change."

"That might have never happened," Crowley says faintly.

"I had faith," the angel says softly, sliding the hand on Crowley's cheek downwards to curve gently over his shoulder. "I was so awful to you, but you waited for me. You didn't have to, and I'm so grateful."

Crowley reaches up with his free hand and brushes his thumb over Aziraphale's lips. "I'd have kept waiting," he confesses quietly. "I would have hated it, but if there'd been even a small chance for us... You're too important, angel; we complement each other, even when you're being awful. You're my best friend. I need you."

Aziraphale's lips part slightly, and the demon unthinkingly slips his thumb into Aziraphale's mouth. Crowley's own mouth opens a little, an unconscious echo, as he strokes over Aziraphale's tongue with his thumb. It's ridiculous and he doesn't know why he's doing it, but he wants to and Aziraphale just lets him, happy to indulge Crowley's endless curiousity.

After a few moments of this, the angel raises his eyebrows at him; Crowley has no idea what Aziraphale's asking, but nods anyway.

When Aziraphale sucks the demon's thumb further into his mouth, rubbing his tongue along the pad of it, Crowley is taken by surprise. He's not ready for the tight heat of it, or for the way the angel looks up at him through his lashes. Though it's similar to what Aziraphale did in the kitchen earlier, that was careful and exploratory; this has intent behind it. This is Aziraphale making an offer, and the implication of it—the idea of the angel on his knees, so eager to taste[24] and to please him—goes right to Crowley's cock. The current of power inside him surges, and for a brief moment he's afraid his skin will ignite.

"Fuck, too much," he manages to say, completely overwhelmed, and shuts his eyes.

Aziraphale lets go of his thumb, and it makes an odd 'pop' sound as the demon pulls out of his mouth. Crowley doesn't quite manage to swallow his panicked noise; it comes out like a strangled laugh.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says gently, "will you look at me, please?"

Suddenly afraid he's ruined everything, Crowley slits his eyes open. He's afraid of what he might see in Aziraphale's eyes, so he looks at the angel's mouth instead.

"We don't have to do everything now," Aziraphale says reassuringly. He slides the hand on Crowley's shoulder down his arm, then touches the back of his hand; giving him space, but not retreating. "We don't have to do _anything_ you don't want to do, my dear."

"I know," Crowley mutters, frustrated at himself. "That's not the problem."

"It's alright," the angel says gently. "There's no rush. Will you lie down with me? Can I hold you?"

Crowley sighs in relief. "Yes, of course."

Aziraphale takes a pillow off the top of the pile and sets it down near the footboard, then lies down on his left side. "Come here?" he asks quietly, stretching his arm out along the mattress to make a space, and Crowley goes. He rests his head against Aziraphale's shoulder and tucks himself against the angel's warm body, face pressed between the soft curves of his breast, and tries to remember how breathing works[25]. Aziraphale wraps his left arm around him and holds him close, stroking his right hand reassuringly along the demon's spine.

"Sorry," Crowley says at last. The surge inside him has settled, soothed by Aziraphale's gentle hands, but he can feel it waiting at the edge of his awareness. The idea of letting it burn through him is terrifying, but he's curious too; he's never felt anything like it before.

"Don't be," Aziraphale says immediately. "I'm happy, my dear."

"I can tell," Crowley says dryly. With the demon pressed so close, and without the usual layers of clothing between them, it's impossible for Aziraphale to pretend he doesn't have an erection.

"Just ignore it," Aziraphale hums. "Or I can get rid of it, if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me," the demon frowns. He rolls his hips experimentally, listens to the angel's breath catch in his throat as Crowley rubs their bodies together. The power in him sparks, then settles again. "Do you like that?"

"Very much," Aziraphale sighs. "I must say though, you're being rather unfair. All that lovely skin, those beautiful scales, and I must keep my mouth to myself."

"Am I tempting you, angel?" the demon grins. This kind of teasing between them is familiar, and familiarity is comforting.

"Always," Aziraphale says lovingly, "and I never resist your temptations." He drags his nails lightly down Crowley's spine.

"Oh?" Crowley manages, his back arching as Aziraphale's fingertips catch on the waistband of his pants. Now that they're finally here, he's not sure whether he wants to slow down for Aziraphale or for himself; he's never let himself think this far ahead. He wants the angel's hands on him, wants to feel every inch of the angel's skin pressed against his, but he's afraid. Demons probably aren't allowed to be this happy; he still half-expects some self-righteous bastard from Heaven to drop by and smite him.

"I have found that things that are bad for me do not tempt me," Aziraphale says simply. "You are _good_ for me, darling."

"Could you fuck me without taking my pants off?" Crowley asks desperately, rolling his hips back so Aziraphale's fingers slide over his sacrum.

Aziraphale goes very still. "Crowley..."

"I bet you know how," the demon says, nervously biting his lower lip. "Will you?"

"We don't have to jump straight to that," Aziraphale reminds him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Crowley's head. "Is there anything else you would like to try? I'm very open to suggestions."

"I can't think of anything," Crowley says honestly. "My brain shorts out when you touch me; it's like there's an electrical fire under my skin."

"That sounds very serious," Aziraphale says softly. His hand starts moving again, gentle fingertips stroking reassuringly up along the demon's spine before sliding down again. It's wonderfully soothing, like Aziraphale is massaging love into his skin.

"It's terrifying," Crowley admits quietly, "but mostly I really like it."

"Mostly?"

"Gotta get past the terror first, then yeah," Crowley says, swallowing hard. "I want you, angel."

"You have me," Aziraphale promises. "You don't need to—"

"I _want_ you," Crowley says awkwardly. "I've never... I don't know how to... Aziraphale, please."

"There are things we can try," Aziraphale says carefully, "but I have questions first."

"Do we have to _talk_ about it?" Crowley groans.

"I don't know what you like," Aziraphale points out. "I don't know what you _don't_ like, or don't want. So yes, darling, we need to talk about it."

"I don't know either," Crowley scowls, "so how is a conversation gonna help?"

"Well, why specifically do you want to leave your pants on?" Aziraphale asks curiously. "Is it a visual barrier or a tactile one?"

Crowley thinks about this for a while. Aziraphale hasn't stopped stroking him, and the demon's having trouble focusing on the question. "Both," he says at last, "but it's not about clothing, exactly. Being with you, like this... I feel _seen_ , and I just need something that— I dunno, that isn't. At least until I get used to it."

"I don't expect you to 'get used to' anything," Aziraphale says carefully.

Crowley sighs. "I don't mean it like that," he says. "I'm just not used to all of this. It's a lot."

"I didn't mean to push you," Aziraphale frets. "I don't want you to feel obligated, just because I want something."

"When have I ever let obligation push me into anything?" Crowley asks incredulously. "I've just never had this sort of physical contact with anyone before, so it's a bit overwhelming."

"I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," Aziraphale says quietly. "I know I'm... not to everyone's taste."

Crowley sighs, bracing himself for mortifying honesty. "Aziraphale, I like your body. It's soft and fat and comfortable, and I wouldn't want you to change any part of it. You could be bigger or wider or shorter or whatever it is you're implying and I'd still like it, because it's yours. I want _you_ , regardless of what you look like or what genitalia you're wearing; none of that stuff matters to me. I want to have sex with you because I want to be intimate with you, in any and every way I can. I just hope you want that too." Crowley waits for a response, but Aziraphale doesn't say anything. "Angel?" he asks, pushing himself up on his arms, and freezes when he sees the tears in Aziraphale's eyes. "Oh angel, please don't cry," he says wretchedly. "I'm sorry."

"Happy tears," Aziraphale says hoarsely, blinking hard. "I... Come back?"

Crowley lowers himself down again, and Aziraphale lets him find a comfortable position before wrapping his arms tightly around the demon's body. Crowley clings back, and they lie together in silence for a while.

"I _do_ want that," Aziraphale says at last. "I love you so much, Crowley. You don't have to say it back; I just needed to tell you."

"I'm trying," Crowley says quietly.

Aziraphale presses a kiss to the top of Crowley's head. "We have plenty of time, dear one," he murmurs. "Do you still want me to... to make you come?"

Crowley can't prevent the full-body shudder, because he's not expecting it. " _Yes_ ," he hisses. "I want you to have that. I want to give it to you."

"Where can I touch you?" the angel asks earnestly. "Where should I avoid?"

"Anywhere without clothes is fine," Crowley says, closing his eyes. He wants this so much, but he's so scared. "Don't touch me through my pants."

"At all?" Aziraphale doesn't sound disappointed; it's more like he's examining possibilities, trying to put together a plan so that Crowley can get what he wants without being hurt.

"No hands," Crowley clarifies.

"Thank you," Aziraphale says. "I... Let me think a moment."

Crowley waits. The sharp-sweet smell of the angel's desire is getting stronger, and Crowley can't help rubbing his cheek against the pale curls of hair on Aziraphale's chest. With all the physical and emotional input, his tactile receptors are going a bit haywire.

"There is something," Aziraphale says at last.

"Does it involve taking your trousers off?" Crowley asks, hiding his face against Aziraphale's breast. He's not _shy_ , it's just that it's so much easier to ask for things if he doesn't have to meet the angel's eyes.

"It can," Aziraphale says carefully, "but it doesn't have to."

"More skin is good," Crowley assures him.

"Will you help?" Aziraphale asks.

Crowley reluctantly pulls away so the angel has enough space to roll onto his back, then pushes himself up onto his knees. Aziraphale looks up at him and smiles fondly; Crowley wants to kiss him again, just once, so he does.

The demon watches Aziraphale rest his wrists against the swell of his stomach while he undoes the button fly of his trousers, and can't help wondering how many times Aziraphale has made these same movements. Before this thing between them turned into living together, he'd always assumed the angel didn't really bother with nightly routines—why would you, if you didn't sleep?—but now he's starting to wonder. How much doesn't he know about Aziraphale? Assuming they're not both horribly murdered tomorrow, how many years of new discoveries can he look forward to?

"Can I...?" Crowley asks, reaching out slowly.

"Yes," Aziraphale says immediately.

"You don't even know what I was asking for," Crowley frowns, hesitating.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, my dear," the angel says gently, "but I am rather experienced with the sensations these situations tend to invoke, and I enjoy all of them."

"Oh, _are_ you?" Crowley says, raising one eyebrow. "Done a bit of experimenting, then? What a naughty angel."

To the demon's surprise, Aziraphale blushes. "Yes, well..."

"Oh, _do_ tell," Crowley grins, then pauses as a thought occurs to him. "Unless it was with Wilde; then you should definitely lie about it."

"Oscar was _married_ ," Aziraphale says, flustered. "I know he didn't stay entirely within the boundaries of his wedding vows, but _I_ certainly wasn't going to... No, I simply meant that I've gotten used to the way my body reacts[26] to that sort of thing."

"Well, you do seem to know your way around," Crowley says, trying to sound casual.

Aziraphale reaches up and brushes his fingertips along Crowley's cheek. "I don't usually kiss and tell," he says quietly, "but if you need to know, I'll tell you later. Right now it's just us here, and we've both been waiting so long. Please touch me—anything you're comfortable with is fine."

Crowley reaches out again and strokes his fingertips along the underside of the angel's belly. Aziraphale sighs and Crowley can't help pushing a little, enjoying the way the angel's plump flesh gives under the light pressure. Angelic skin is supposed to be perfect, but Aziraphale's belly is marred with fine, pale-pink stretch marks. Crowley didn't expect them, but he's not truly surprised; Aziraphale's always been different.

In Crowley's experience, angels are generally lean and hard and unforgiving, but Aziraphale has always been soft and strong and kind[27]. In giving away his flaming sword to two foolish, scared humans, the angel had shown initiative, creative thinking, and a certain willingness to bend the rules; of _course_ the demon had wanted to get close to him.

Crowley's fingers eventually ghost downwards along the placket of Aziraphale's trousers, just the lightest of touches, before carefully folding back the fabric of his flies. "Are you wearing designer pants[28]?"

"They're comfortable."

"They're overpriced cotton," Crowley grins[29].

"They're _comfortable_ ," Aziraphale insists, but he's smiling. "Will you remove my trousers for me, darling?"

Crowley's mouth has gone too dry for any more speech, so he just nods. Aziraphale lifts his hips, and the demon carefully slides the trousers down his legs. They get stuck at Aziraphale's ankles, and Crowley scowls at the fabric before managing to pull them all the way off. He folds the trousers haphazardly, then leans over the footboard of the bed to drop them on top of Aziraphale's other clothes. The angel may have been careless with his shirt and tie, but his trousers are as old as his coat; they need the same amount of care.

Aziraphale sighs happily and stretches a little, toes flexing. Crowley watches the movement, glances back up towards Aziraphale's face, then drags his eyes down along the angel's legs like a caress. Aziraphale's skin is dusted with fine white hairs; his broad thighs, soft and strong, taper into thick calves and delicate ankles. Crowley wants to press his mouth against the angel's creamy skin, to map every dip and contour of Aziraphale's body with his tongue, but he's trapped under the weight of his desire and doesn't know where to start.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Aziraphale asks softly.

"I want," Crowley says helplessly. He's trembling again with the intensity of the feeling, like it's trying to escape through his skin. How do humans _do_ this?

"Lovely," Aziraphale sighs, reaching for him. "Come here, darling. Will you touch your skin to mine? Can I kiss you?"

Crowley groans, lets the angel take his left hand and thread their fingers together.

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asks gently.

Crowley doesn't know what to say, so he shrugs one shoulder instead.

"Ah," Aziraphale realises. "Would you like me to narrow down the options?"

"Please," Crowley sighs, frustrated. Surely he'll get the hang of this, eventually?

"Well, I would like it very much if you'd touch my chest," the angel says, sounding almost shy. Crowley hadn't realised this was difficult for him, too; he'd assumed the angel was _better_ at feelings, but the angel has merely committed himself fully to being _open_ about them. Aziraphale may have had more experience with sex, but emotional intimacy like this is new to both of them; he should have remembered that. "With your mouth, or your hands. Which would you prefer?"

Crowley reaches out with his free right hand and touches his fingertips to Aziraphale's sternum. "Show me?"

"Of course," Aziraphale agrees, sounding delighted. Both of their hands move together as Aziraphale guides them over his skin, showing Crowley how he likes to be touched. Eventually the angel's hands drop away, but Crowley's keep going: cupping the small mounds on Aziraphale's chest, rubbing his thumbs across the angel's areolae, scratching nails lightly down the angel's sides, stroking his fingers up along Aziraphale's ribs, and petting his chest through the curls of pale hair before doing it all again.

"That's lovely," Aziraphale sighs. His eyes are closed and he seems relaxed under Crowley's hands, but the muscles deep underneath his skin are still tense. Remembering what Aziraphale said about his tongue, Crowley leans down and licks across one of the angel's nipples. Aziraphale makes a surprised noise, then moans when Crowley presses closer and slowly drags the flat of his tongue over it. "Sensitive," Aziraphale warns.

"Good," Crowley purrs, and licks the other one.

"Crowley," Aziraphale groans.

Crowley starts exploring the differences in texture with his tongue, alternating between the two; they're very similar, but not exactly the same. It's fascinating.

" _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale says again. The timbre of his voice has dropped even further, and it comes out more like a rumble. The increased arousal that the sound provokes in Crowley is unexpected, and the demon squirms under it for a few seconds before managing to get himself under control.

"Mm?" Crowley remembers to say, still distracted. Aziraphale's skin is so _soft_ here. He wants to bite down, but they should probably talk about that first; Crowley's teeth are mostly human-shaped, but very sharp.

"I want to be under you," Aziraphale says. His eyes are open again, but his pupils are so dilated that the colour is starting to disappear; since it's still the middle of the day, Crowley figures he must be doing something right.

"You are," the demon points out, confused.

"I want your weight on me," Aziraphale clarifies. "Would that be alright?"

"Yes," Crowley says immediately. He's always liked the way Aziraphale's body feels underneath him; he doesn't think it'll be any different in this context. "How?"

"Sit here," Aziraphale says, briefly touching his own thighs. "Then lean down and kiss me."

Crowley hesitates. How is he supposed to get his leg over without looking totally uncool?

Aziraphale, of course, misinterprets his hesitation. "You don't have to," he says hastily. "I don't mean to push—"

Crowley leans down and kisses him to shut him up, because Aziraphale is an idiot. "I _want_ you under me," he murmurs against the angel's lips, and Aziraphale shudders. "Yeah, you like that idea?" Crowley asks slyly. "How long have you wanted me on top of you, angel? How much do you want me to pin you down?"

"Crowley, _please_ ," Aziraphale moans.

Crowley can't help kissing Aziraphale again, and when the angel opens his mouth he licks into it immediately. Aziraphale kisses him back, pushing up desperately until Crowley places his palms on the angel's shoulders and shoves him back down against the mattress.

" _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale whines. "Please, I—"

The demon pushes the full length of his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, curling it along the angel's teeth and around the angel's own tongue in an intimate kind of caress, before swinging his left leg over the Aziraphale's thighs. He's a bit more off-balance than he'd thought, but manages to land in roughly the right place.

Aziraphale moans again as he feels the demon's weight settle on him, and Crowley pulls back from his mouth so he can hear it better. Aziraphale's eyes are closed, lips still slightly parted, and his cheeks are flushed pink. He looks like a painting[30]. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," Crowley blurts out, then immediately winces.

Aziraphale opens his eyes and looks up at him. "Thank you," he says simply, then raises his right hand to cup Crowley's cheek.

"What?" Crowley asks.

"Just admiring you," Aziraphale says mildly, brushing the pad of his thumb across the demon's cheekbone.

"Shut up," Crowley says, rolling his eyes.

"Make me," Aziraphale says, then grins up at him.

"Oh, is that how you're gonna play it?" Crowley asks, raising one eyebrow.

"You're breathtaking," Aziraphale says, sounding pleased. "Pulchritudinous. Utterly splend—"

Crowley dives down to cut him off with another kiss. The angel's hand slides back into Crowley's hair and pulls, making the demon hiss with pleasure and grind his cock into the shallow depression between Aziraphale's sumptuous thighs.

" _Fuck_ ," Aziraphale moans. Crowley twitches as arousal shoots through him, then freezes as he realises what he's been doing. "No, keep going," Aziraphale says immediately, letting go of his hair. "I like the idea of you taking your pleasure from me."

"You can't just _say_ things like that," Crowley groans, but he starts moving again.

"That's it, darling," Aziraphale sighs. "Oh, Crowley. You're magnificent."

"Am not," Crowley manages.

"You're _glorious_ ," Aziraphale insists, raising both hands to push the demon's hair back from his face. "You're more than I deserve."

"Demon," Crowley reminds him bitterly, closing his eyes. "I'm the one who doesn't deserve this."

" _My_ demon," Aziraphale says fiercely. "Crowley, your eyes are marvelous; please don't hide them from me."

Crowley opens them and stares at the angel, surprised.

"There you are," Aziraphale smiles. "I've always liked your eyes; I should have told you that."

Crowley stares at him, speechless.

"They've seen so much," the angel muses. "Horrors and wonders alike."

"Seeing some wonderful things right now," Crowley manages, and Aziraphale beams at him.

"I'd really like to show you some of the things bodies can do," Aziraphale says lovingly. "Would you be interested in that?"

"I want _everything_ ," Crowley says fiercely. "I'm greedy, angel; I'll never be satisfied."

"I think you'll find me very generous," Aziraphale smirks, and Crowley shudders at the promise in it.

"I didn't think I'd ever get to do this," Crowley admits, slightly desperately.

"Oh, but you're doing it so well," Aziraphale purrs.

" _Angel_ ," Crowley groans.

"Can I touch you, darling?"

"Touch—?"

"I know the rule," Aziraphale assures him. "I just want to get my hands on those thighs."

"Not a rule," Crowley says breathlessly. "You're allowed, remember?"

"Oh, but I want to take my time with you, dearest," Aziraphale sighs, resting his hands on the demon's bare skin. "You're so lovely; you deserve my undivided attention."

"Fuck," Crowley groans. Aziraphale's spread his pudgy fingers wide over Crowley's narrow thighs, gripping just tightly enough to feel the muscles move underneath the demon's skin. Crowley loves the contrast of it; the feeling of being held by someone stronger and larger. It's a solid point of grounding reassurance in the overwhelming rush of sensation.

"Look how responsive you are," Aziraphale says admiringly. "I could keep you like this for days, just listening to you sing for me."

"Angel," Crowley says helplessly, grinding down harder. There's only one damp layer of cloth separating his cock from Aziraphale's thighs; just one layer of humming molecules holding space between the atoms of their physical essences. He wants Aziraphale to grip tighter, to keep him within the fire of this feeling until it burns him, if only so he can look at the scars later and know that this was _real_.

"Do you like that idea?" Aziraphale asks lovingly. "I do too. We could just stay in bed all day. All _week_. Oh, you magnificent creature."

The irises of Aziraphale's ocean eyes are barely visible around the blown-wide black of his pupils, and his focus is so intense that it's almost a physical thing; Crowley feels pinned underneath his gaze, like he's a prey animal waiting to be eaten. He knows the angel would never do anything like that—there's only one snake here, and it's not Aziraphale—but the idea that he _could_[31] is utterly thrilling.

" _How do I love thee?_[32]" Aziraphale says suddenly. " _Let me count the ways._ "

"Trite," Crowley manages. He hadn't anticipated that Aziraphale would _talk_ so much; poetry might be the end of him.

" _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_[33]"

"Cliché."

" _With great delight I sat in his shadow,_[34]" Aziraphale recites softly, " _and his fruit was sweet to my taste._ "

"Ugh, Solomon," Crowley groans.

"What words will you allow, sweetheart?" Aziraphale asks gently. "You deserve to hear how much I love you."

Crowley shudders. Aziraphale has never called him that before; he can feel it sink into his skin like a brand.

"Ah, I know," Aziraphale says happily. "I remember. May I?"

"Yes," Crowley says, breath hitching. " _Yes_ , angel, whatever you want."

" _Of everything I have seen,_[35]  
_it's you I want to go on seeing:_  
_of everything I've touched,_  
_it's your flesh I want to go on touching._ "

Aziraphale slides his hands up along Crowley's thighs, tracing the wine-dark lines of his scales as they curve over his hips and sides.

" _I love your orange laughter._  
_I am moved by the sight of you sleeping._  
_What am I to do, love, loved one?_  
_You please me more each afternoon._ "

"Angel," Crowley moans. He's panting now, the soft hitching sounds too loud in the quiet room. Aziraphale drags his perfectly-manicured nails upwards along the edges of Crowley's ribs, just hard enough to score faint lines that quickly fade. It tickles and tingles, all at the same time. He doesn't know whether he likes it or not; Aziraphale will just have to do it again and again until he's sure. "Please, I..."

" _I live, watching you, loving you._  
_Being in love is my nature._  
_Oh, I want to do with you_  
_what spring does with the cherry trees._ "

"Aziraphale," Crowley gasps. A familiar feeling, hot and desperate, has begun to build in his gut; he may never have done this with anyone _else_ before, but he remembers[36] what an impending orgasm feels like.

"You're being so good for me," Aziraphale sighs, brushing his fingertips gently across the white starburst of scales on Crowley's sternum. "Would you let me? Open you up with my fingers and tongue? I bet you taste _delicious_."

"I, I can't—"

"That's it, darling," the angel says lovingly, rubbing his thumbs across Crowley's nipples. "Are you close? Will you show me?"

" _Aziraphale_ ," Crowley moans, curling forwards. As he moves, the edge of the angel's thumbnails dig in by accident; the unexpected sharpness of it feels amazing, and he can't stop himself from hissing his pleasure. His hips are moving of their own accord, encouraged by the loving filth coming out of the angel's mouth. The power inside him is bright and hot, like it's trying to burn away the flesh that still separates them; it's almost too much, but he still wants _more_.

Crowley has shifted up more than he'd meant to, and rocks against Aziraphale's erection by accident. Crowley gasps, the angel moans, and the demon surrenders as the waves of Aziraphale's love crash over him.

"Oh, fuck," Aziraphale says desperately, dropping his hands down to curve around the demon's hips. " _Crowley_."

Both of them are breathing hard, mouths slightly open with the exertion. Their noses are almost touching when the angel meets his eyes again, and Crowley shudders under the intensity of his gaze. Aziraphale's love often overflows, but right now—skin pressed again skin, breathing the same breath—Crowley is _drenched_.

"Come for me, love," Aziraphale begs, and Crowley lets himself fall.

*****

Crowley comes back to himself slowly, face smushed into Aziraphale's soft chest. The angel is stroking through his hair, gently combing out the tangles with his fingers; it feels lovely. Crowley turns his face a bit more to the left so he can breathe easier, then settles again.

"1791," Aziraphale says thoughtfully, apropos of nothing. "Didn't you invite me to Vienna that year?"

"Maybe," Crowley says, not opening his eyes. His brain is still a bit sluggish, but he can feel the echo of a miracle in the room; Aziraphale must have used one to clean them up. He's strangely disappointed by that, and files the thought away for later examination.

"You did," Aziraphale insists. " _The Magic Flute_. I remember it very well."

"Jo said he'd send tickets[37] if I could prove I had 'an actual friend'," Crowley remembers vaguely.

"That's not very nice."

"True, though," Crowley says, forcing his eyes open to keep himself awake. "I was so busy; I barely even had acquaintances at that point. Other than you, obviously."

"So you invited me to the theatre because you had something to prove?" Aziraphale asks mildly.

"It wasn't _just_ that," Crowley says defensively, rubbing his cheek against the angel's warm skin. The sweet-sharp smell of Aziraphale's desire is still there, but it's lost the buzzing vibration of urgency; it's as if Aziraphale has put the 'honey' away into combs for later use. "I hadn't seen you in ages, and you love Mozart[38]."

"He was such a brilliant man," the angel sighs.

"Careful now," Crowley grins. He thinks about kissing across Aziraphale's chest, but decides he's too relaxed to put in the kind of effort it deserves. "People will talk."

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale says mildly. "I like what I like; I can't help it if people make assumptions."

"It's not like you try to avoid them," Crowley points out.

"Why should I, my dear?" Aziraphale says. Crowley can't see it, but the smile is obvious in his voice. "That implies that I _mind_."

"Some people probably just assume you're a time-traveller," Crowley teases.

"There's nothing wrong with the way I dress," Aziraphale huffs. He slides his fingers deeper into Crowley's hair and starts to rub gentle circles into his scalp. "There aren't nearly enough dapper gentlemen these days."

"They've all died from heat exhaustion," Crowley says absently, letting his eyes slide closed again. He hasn't felt this kind of boneless relaxation in a very long time, and hardly ever while he's in human form. It's very difficult to focus on conversation, but he's too pleased to let himself slide into sleep just yet. Besides, Aziraphale is still talking to him; that's a different kind of pleasure, but just as important.

"Maybe it's the way I walk," Aziraphale says, ignoring him. "But you sashay much more than I do, so maybe not."

"Snake hips," Crowley says drowsily. "Who cares? 'ss not like we're human."

"True," the angel agrees. "Was that our first date, would you say?"

"Vienna?" Crowley hums. "I suppose that depends... When you invite someone out, do you need to _know_ you're asking them on a date?"

"I think so?" Aziraphale says uncertainly. "However there seems to be quite a lot of confusion about what 'counts' as a date, so maybe it's not that simple."

"I was mostly watching you instead of the performance," Crowley admits, "but I didn't realise why until Tamino started singing about Pamina."

" _This divine image fills my heart with new emotion_[39]," Aziraphale murmurs. " _It is something I can scarcely name, though I feel it burn like fire within me. Could this feeling be love?_ "

"That's why I ducked out," Crowley says, trying to sound casual. "Had to go panic in private; demons aren't supposed to fall in love. Lust is obviously fine, but I'd never really felt any of _that_ before either."

Aziraphale's fingers stop moving. "In love?" he asks.

"Er," Crowley says slowly, opening his eyes again. "Yeah?"

"You've loved me since _1791_?"

"Nah, that's just when I realised it," Crowley admits sheepishly. "The lust was new though."

Aziraphale is silent for a few moments. "How long?" he asks softly.

"I don't remember a time when I didn't."

" _Darling_ ," Aziraphale says delightedly.

"Did you seriously not notice?" Crowley frowns. "Wasn't that your _job_?"

"You love me."

"Don't gloat," Crowley says, exasperated.

"You _love_ me."

"Enough, angel."

"You looove me," Aziraphale sings.

"I would hit you with a pillow, but they're at the other end of the bed," Crowley says dryly. "Also I can't move my legs."

"That is a huge compliment," Aziraphale hums. He seems very pleased by Crowley's admission of love, and the demon doesn't know what to do with that.

"Speaking of huge things," Crowley smirks, shifting slightly against Aziraphale's erection, "did you want some help?"

"Mm, no," Aziraphale decides. "It'll keep."

"Really?" Crowley asks, surprised. "It's not exactly fair."

"This isn't a transactional relationship, my dear," Aziraphale says kindly.

"It's not just that," Crowley says, offended. "I do want to."

"I know you do," Aziraphale says gently.

"I doubt it," Crowley grumbles.

"Lust is born from love," Aziraphale reminds him, "and I'm familiar with both."

"So am I," Crowley fires back, and Aziraphale laughs.

"There's no rush," the angel says happily. "I like this."

"Me too," Crowley frowns. "But... um."

"But what?" Aziraphale asks.

"Maybe we could save the poetry for special occasions?" Crowley says hesitantly. "I really want to get my mouth on you, but when you start talking like that it derails my brain and I forget."

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," Aziraphale promises, sounding relieved. "We can discuss the details later. Go to sleep; I know you're only keeping yourself awake because you think I want you to."

"Okay," says Crowley obediently, ignoring the lazy frission of heat curling along his spine. If Aziraphale ever finds out what that particular pet name does to him, he's _fucked_. "Good night."

"Good afternoon," Aziraphale laughs. "I'll wake you up in four hours; we'll go out for dinner."

"Celebrating corruption," Crowley accuses half-heartedly.

"Sleep," Aziraphale says fondly, and starts stroking his hair again.

"Remind me to ask you about power dynamics[40] later," Crowley says absently. "I think I'm kinky."

He falls asleep to the sound of the angel's quiet laughter. Aziraphale is warm and vibrant and _his_ , and Crowley is happier than he's ever been.

**********

Clicking on the arrows below will bring you back to the related footnote within the text:

> [1] It ignores him. This has been happening so frequently over the past four months that Crowley has almost accepted it. [↩]
> 
> [2] There's no precedent for a relationship like theirs. If you asked Aziraphale how to classify it, the angel would probably look confused, then thoughtful, then carefully bury the word 'engagement' near the end of a long rambling sentence. If you asked Crowley the same thing, he'd probably remind you that labels are a human invention, then tell you to fuck off. [↩]
> 
> [3] Aziraphale isn't _against_ change, it's just that he prefers for it to be divided proportionately along a graduated scale. [↩]
> 
> [4] Crowley's not sure what Aziraphale had been doing between 1868 and 1941—he'd been asleep—but the angel had definitely been much more affectionate towards him after he got up. He hadn't dared hope that it _meant_ anything until 1968, and it hadn't been confirmed as such until 2018. Patience may be a virtue, but Crowley's actually gotten pretty good at it. [↩]
> 
> [5] When you're scared or on edge, "your blood circulation increases, your pupils dilate, [and] your whole body is in a state of heightened arousal," [explains](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/325419.php) sex researcher Zhana Vrangalova. "When you add a sexual component to that, it can be very pleasurable." This pleasure can be further heightened by the loss of control that comes with submission, as well as in the rush of power that comes with domination. Two studies have found that participants who engaged in consensual BDSM acts as part of erotic play experienced a heightened sense of bonding with their partners, and an increase in emotional trust. Another reason for engaging in rough play during sex is that of escapism: "Pain," explain authors of a review published in _The Journal of Sex Research_ , "can focus attention on the present moment and away from abstract, high-level thought." [↩]
> 
> [6] Despite what humans seem to think, angels—and their Fallen counterparts—aren't actually psychic. Crowley has spent a long time being grateful for this fact—without it, the Arrangement would have never been possible—but in some ways it's also made the last four months a bit difficult. He's not used to being honest about his feelings—demons aren't supposed to _have_ feelings, unless they're based on instinct and hate—but he'll put up with the cracked-ribs sensation if Aziraphale keeps rewarding him with those soft looks of devoted fondness whenever he tries. [↩]
> 
> [7] Snake bodies are flooded with tactile receptors that allow them to feel the slightest change in their environment. These tactile receptors also come in handy during social encounters, where touch and smell become the communication of choice. Snakes, both animal and demon, are very responsive to touch. [↩]
> 
> [8] Attitudes to nudity [vary greatly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nudity_in_religion) between different religions, and can also change over time as they are influenced by society and culture. Some make a [distinction](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyclad_\(Neopaganism\)) between social and ritual nudity; others relate nudity to [modesty](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modesty), which generally has detailed rules of what is considered appropriate behaviour. However throughout the [majority of history](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_nudity), nudity was seen as a natural concept. Non-segregated bathing in rivers and bathhouses was the norm in Europe up until the 19th century, and toplessness was accepted among all social classes. During the Age of Enlightenment, taboos against nudity began to grow; by the Victorian era, public nakedness was considered obscene. In addition to segregating beaches by gender, '[bathing machines](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bathing_machine)' were invented to allow people who had changed into bathing suits to enter directly into the water. Perhaps as a push back against this kind of attitude, the modern [naturist movement](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naturism) began to develop in the early years of the 20th century. [↩]
> 
> [9] In a lot of ways, Crowley does actually find sex interesting—it's a huge motivator for most species, and humans are so _inventive_ —but he's never really felt inclined to participate. He can be seductive when he needs to be, but the role is tiring and he's always shed it as soon as he could. Aziraphale is the only one who's ever made him wonder where a true seduction could lead. [↩]
> 
> [10] When he's truly happy, Aziraphale's eyes crinkle up adorably and he gets this wonderful half-moon smile on his face that shows all his teeth. Crowley wants him to smile like that all the time, so is it any wonder that he hates Gabriel so much? For weeks after a visit, Aziraphale's shine would be hidden under layers of bullshit bureaucracy, and his smiles—if he even smiled at all—would be small and sad. Crowley had once dragged Aziraphale out drinking after one such visit, letting the angel complain endlessly about Gabriel's failure to understand the importance of the new library in Alexandria; Aziraphale himself failed to notice that his wine was staying miraculously in his cup instead of sloshing all over the table, even though Crowley hadn't been at all subtle about it. [↩]
> 
> [11] Crowley licked a 9-volt battery once, just to see what it was like. The feeling he's experiencing at the moment is a lot like that, except not nearly as unpleasant. [↩]
> 
> [12] Wanting more is part of Crowley's nature—even as an angel, he craved knowledge and experience beyond what his role allowed—but he's not used to _getting_ it. Safe physical contact wasn't something Crowley had access to in Hell, and Aziraphale was understandably wary about it until rather recently; consequently, the demon is aware of a pretty huge disconnect between what he wants and what he's actually ready for. Crowley figures there's no point worrying about it; they'll work it out eventually, one way or another. They've got time. [↩]
> 
> [13] Jeremy Bentham asserted both psychological and ethical hedonism with the first two sentences of his book _An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation_ : "Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters: pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do". Aziraphale firmly believes that higher morals should overrule any quest for physical sensation; as a result, despite how much the angel enjoys indulging in life's many pleasures, he finds the idea of hedonism utterly repulsive. He's much more fond of the concept of _joie de vivre_ ('the joy of living'), which he learnt about from his friend [Nancy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nancy_Mitford); it's a French expression for the delight of being alive, with a hearty and buoyant enjoyment of that life. It is the "joy of conversation, joy of eating, joy of anything one might do... _Joie de vivre_ may be seen as a comprehensive joy, a philosophy of life that involves one's whole being." [↩]
> 
> [14] Crowley never makes the bed when he gets up, but Aziraphale is used to that by now. Usually when Crowley shows up in the doorway of whatever room Aziraphale is in, the angel takes care of it—after all, now he can use all the frivolous miracles he wants to—but this morning he'd been surprised by the concurrence of their desires and forgotten all about the sheets. [↩]
> 
> [15] Crowley has always been beautiful, but there's something about the sight of him in a worn-out band shirt, with his long legs bare and ever-growing hair falling into his eyes, that makes Aziraphale's heart sing with joy. [↩]
> 
> [16] Despite his lack of interest in sleeping, Aziraphale does actually own a set of pyjamas; they're made from a wonderfully soft flannel in his personal tartan pattern. He's avoided telling Crowley about them because then he'd expect Aziraphale to _wear_ them; without the protection of his many layers, the angel wasn't sure if he'd be able to hide how desperate he is to feel Crowley's bare skin against his own. [↩]
> 
> [17] In 1950 it became popular to wear embroidered braces made in two separate bands, with tabs and buttonholes. Though nobody would ever really see them—bracers were still considered undergarments at that time—Aziraphale commissioned a custom set of navy bracers with a variety of delicately-embroidered plants. If there was a small black snake head peeping out from underneath a [**pansy**](https://imgur.com/2DJVZc3), well, that was his own secret to keep. [↩]
> 
> [18] Fashion used to move much slower, to the point where Aziraphale could actually keep up with it if he put in minimal effort. Unfortunately it got away from him in 1951—Marlon Brando has a lot to answer for—and he's never quite managed to catch up again. [↩]
> 
> [19] Crowley had been wary of the angels guarding the Gates, but watching Aziraphale be Aziraphale for about twenty minutes had destroyed the demon's fear of him—it was impossible to be afraid of someone who was humming happily at the feeling of desert sand between his toes. [↩]
> 
> [20] Aziraphale's cologne is _Avignon_ by [Comme des Garçons](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/Comme-des-Garcons/Comme-des-Garcons-Series-3-Incense-Avignon-1230.html): ambrette, smoky vanilla, and soft French chamomile. Aziraphale himself usually smells a bit like almond and ginger—especially his hair—but Crowley's also noticed a hint of something else in the angel's scent lately: a rich, nectarous sharpness, almost like fermented honey. Trust the angel to turn sexual desire into something _sweet_. [↩]
> 
> [21] The vomeronasal organ (VNO) of humans is largely vestigial—it's a crucial step in foetal development of the reproductive system, but [regresses](https://www.cell.com/current-biology/comments/S0960-9822\(06\)01047-5) before birth and is nonfunctional in adults—however Crowley is not human. As a snake demon, the relevant nerves in his twin VNO are still connected to his hypothalamus, and he can still use it to collect information if he puts in [a bit of effort](https://imgur.com/myNqvRL). His VNO are less sensitive when he's in human form, but sometimes it's useful to be able to read the small chemical changes that prompt or change behaviour. After all, more communication is through [pheromones](https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S187972961100010X) than through any other kind of signal, and they're used by almost all animals. [↩]
> 
> [22] Crowley's scale pattern looks rather similar to [**the Samael nebula**](https://imgur.com/4Dtcrv6). Some nebulae come from the gas and dust thrown out by the explosion of a dying star, such as a supernova. Other nebulae are regions where new stars are beginning to form; these nebulae are sometimes called 'star nurseries'. The Samael nebula was one of these, but it disappeared a long time ago. [↩]
> 
> [23] This isn't strictly true—as one of the [Dominions](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:https://www.beliefnet.com/inspiration/angels/the-spheres-of-the-christian-angelic-hierarchy.aspx), Gabriel is authorised to punish any lesser-rank angels who disobey orders—but God _is_ the only one with eviction rights. [↩]
> 
> [24] Aziraphale has always enjoyed putting things in his mouth. Crowley would call it an 'oral fixation', but then he'd have to explain why his own tendency to lick things isn't. [↩]
> 
> [25] Crowley doesn't technically _need_ to breathe, of course; neither of them do. Still, there's something calming about the feeling of air moving through his oesophagus and lungs; it's much harder to panic when you're focused on maintaining the rhythm. [↩]
> 
> [26] Before their sin corrupted it into lust, God created sexual desire as a gift for humans to enjoy. Thousands of years in human form has really helped Aziraphale understand the difference between the two. [↩]
> 
> [27] Aziraphale is also stubborn, sarcastic, and a bit devious. He's _plush_ , a true personification of careful and copious indulgence, and Crowley adores it. [↩]
> 
> [28] Aziraphale is wearing white Polo Ralph Lauren cotton knit boxer briefs, which really are very comfortable. [↩]
> 
> [29] Twisting 'quality of manufacture' into 'luxury branding' is something that Crowley is particularly proud of. Seeing humans pay ridiculous amounts of money for something that barely cost anything to make is _hilarious_. [↩]
> 
> [30] Not a specific painting, unfortunately; Crowley never managed to tempt any of the greats into painting an angel being debauched by a demon. It's a shame Caravaggio wasn't born in the 21st century; Crowley reckons he would've done a bang-up job. [↩]
> 
> [31] They've never properly fought each other, but Crowley is pretty sure he'd lose if they did. Aziraphale is a [Principality](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:https://www.beliefnet.com/inspiration/angels/the-spheres-of-the-christian-angelic-hierarchy.aspx); he'll do everything possible to prevent a fight, but he's also never _lost_ one. Armageddon aside, Crowley's never met a battle he couldn't sneak away from. [↩]
> 
> [32] Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "[How Do I Love Thee?](https://poets.org/poem/how-do-i-love-thee-sonnet-43)" [↩]
> 
> [33] William Shakespeare, "[Sonnet 18](http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/18.html)" [↩]
> 
> [34] Bible: "[Song of Solomon 2:3-6](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Song+of+Solomon+2%3A3-6&version=NRSV)" [↩]
> 
> [35] Pablo Neruda, "Amor" & "Every Day You Play". [↩]
> 
> [36] Crowley isn't a stranger to masturbation—even without sexual attraction, it still feels good—but he hasn't bothered with it much over the course of his existence; there are just so many other ways he prefers to feel pleasure, and most of them are less effort. However there _have_ been a few times he's indulged while thinking of Aziraphale, and it's always heightened the experience.
> 
> The first time, Aziraphale had unexpectedly visited Crowley's rooms to wax lyrical about the new building he'd bought. "I've sent for my books!" he'd trilled. "Oh, it's all coming together, darling!" The ecstasy rolling off of him in waves had been infectious, and Crowley'd almost bitten through his own tongue while trying to hold back some truly inappropriate noises. As soon as he'd closed the door behind the angel, Crowley had leaned against it and brought himself off as fast as he could, riding the high of Aziraphale's euphoria. He'd never come so hard in his _life_ , but the guilt afterwards had been almost unbearable.
> 
> The second time wasn't really his fault either. Aziraphale had a truly decadent way of eating desserts, practically making love to his spoon, and the demon had already watched him moan with pleasure _twice_ that week. Crowley had merely been thinking about where to take Aziraphale for dinner, but then he'd remembered _that_ and his thoughts hadn't stayed chaste for much longer. His imagination had taken Aziraphale's rapturous expressions, his effusive praise, and twisted it to be about Crowley instead; the demon hadn't really had enough time to change it _back_ before it was all over. It hadn't been intentional, but he'd still felt guilty about taking advantage. Crowley had declined the angel's invitations to the Ritz for _months_ after that, much to Aziraphale's confusion.
> 
> After the third time—which Crowley resolved to never tell anyone about, _ever_ —he'd felt so guilty about using Aziraphale's image to fulfil his sexual fantasies that he'd avoided the angel for a _year_. Frankly, he'd needed the time away to shove everything down and out of sight, because this was getting ridiculous; what if Aziraphale _noticed_? [↩]
> 
> [37] Emanuel Schikaneder (born Johann Joseph Schickeneder, a name that was first given to an older brother who died at age two) was a prolific German impresario, dramatist, actor, singer, and composer in the late 18th century. He penned 56 libretti and 45 spoken-language plays, but we primarily know him for writing the libretto of Mozart’s opera _The Magic Flute_. The musical standards of his musicians and singers were of the highest quality, and his productions emphasized stage effects and spectacle that included "flying machines, trapdoors, thunder, elaborate lighting and other visual effects including fires and waterfalls". He was responsible for the construction of the Theater an der Wien, "the most lavishly equipped and one of the largest theatres of its age", which still operates today. [↩]
> 
> [38] From 1998 to 1999, Michael Sheen starred as Mozart in a successful revival of _Amadeus_. It was extremely well received, with reviewers saying things like: "Sheen elicits a real poetry from the role", "this actor is so luminous it's scary", "quite stunning", and "the play catches fire whenever he's on stage." [↩]
> 
> [39] Lyrics from "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön" ("This image is enchantingly beautiful") in Act I, Scene 1 of _The Magic Flute_. The original aria is in German, which I do not speak; I've therefore used various online translations as a reference. You can watch the 2001 performance by the Paris Opera (with English subtitles) [on Youtube](https://youtube.com/watch?v=x9nyPrJy5ek). [↩]
> 
> [40] "Too many people don't let themselves authentically receive the pleasure they want. So [taking a submissive role], and having no other option but to let go and give over, can be a way to trick ourselves into really receiving the love and care and attention and desire and passion that someone wants to give you." — Sinclair Sexsmith, Episode 1 of the _Why Are People Into That?!_ podcast. [↩]

**Author's Note:**

> The story title was taken from "[Saying Your Names](http://genius.com/Richard-siken-saying-your-names-annotated)" by Richard Siken:
> 
> _"All night I stretched my arms across him,_   
>  _rivers of blood, the dark woods,_   
>  _singing with all my skin and bone:_   
>  _'Please keep him safe._   
>  _Let him lay his head on my chest_   
>  _and we will be like sailors,_   
>  _swimming in the sound of it,_   
>  _dashed to pieces.'_   
>  _Makes a cathedral,_   
>  _him pressing against me,_   
>  _his lips at my neck,_   
>  _and yes, I do believe_   
>  _his mouth is heaven,_   
>  _his kisses falling over me like stars."_
> 
> The series title was taken from "[Snow and Dirty Rain](http://genius.com/Richard-Siken-snow-and-dirty-rain-annotated)" by Richard Siken:
> 
> _"I had to make up all the words myself._   
>  _The way they taste, the way they sound in the air..._   
>  _I made this place for you._   
>  _A place for you to love me._   
>  _If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is..._   
>  _I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters_   
>  _kept smudging as I wrote them:_   
>  _the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth,_   
>  _the trees and the trees_   
>  _and the space between the trees,_   
>  _swimming in gold."_
> 
> Go buy [_Crush_](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1072610.Crush) by Richard Siken; it's a wonderful book of poetry, and absolutely worth the money.


End file.
